Wrath
by Delilah's Soliloquy
Summary: Part 1 of the "Seven Deadly Sins" series. They say that wrath consumes the soul like a temporary madness. Rating is for violence and brief episodes of adult language.
1. Love and War

_Good morning, readers, and welcome to the first installment of "The Seven Deadly Sins": Wrath. The classical definition of **wrath **is "inordinate and uncontrolled feelings of hatred and anger." It has been presented through the centuries as a sort of temporary madness, which can cause otherwise rational people to do impulsive, stupid things. In the next three chapters, we will be exploring three characters consumed by the fire of their own anger. _

_A few quick reminders before we begin:_

_1. No character is perfect. Even our favorite characters are susceptible to their own vices (yes, we all have vices). Some of theses vices stem from noble intentions, others from misguided intentions, still others from pure malice, but the feelings themselves are what I aim to explore. _

_2. I own nothing. There, I said it. _

_3. The chapters in this story, and indeed in this entire series, are very internal in nature. They delve into what's going on inside he characters' minds at the time they commit whatever Deadly Sin they're being tagged for. The author absolves herself from what's going on inside the characters' heads-we all act and feel 'out of character' at times, and while in the throes of powerful sensations like anger, lust or jealousy, people have been known to act rashly, stupidly or short-sightedly._

_4. As introspective accounts of mostly-canon moments, these pieces do borrow dialogue from the books on occasion. I wnated them to stay true to the source material. The characters' musings, however are my own interpretations. _

_5. Finally, sorry I couldn't include all the characters who might fit a certain sin. I limited myself to three chapters per entry and tried with all my might not to repeat characters where possible, though this proved difficult at times. In the end, I settled for the characters that made the best stories. _

_With that boring piece of protocol out of the way, I hope you enjoy the story! And to any of my regular readers out there: welcome back!_

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><p><span>Love and War<span>

Curses flashed around Molly Weasley as pandemonium broke out inside the Great Hall. There was nothing for it; Fred was dead, Harry was dead, their last great hope for victory was gone. And yet the defenders were fighting as if they still stood a chance, determined to go down fighting.

George and his old friend Lee Jordan were overpowering the Death Eater Yaxley, while Ron charged after the werewolf Fenrir Greyback, who had not long ago savaged Molly's youngest son's old sweetheart. Her breath caught in her throat as she saw Arthur and Percy join forces to attack Thicknesse, the puppet Minister.

A mad cackle drew Molly's eyes from her husband and son. Bellatrix Lestrange capered back and foth, dueling Hermione, Ginny and Luna all at once. The schoolgirls' faces were set in concentration as they fought their very hardest, but Bellatrix smiled evilly as she dueled them almost lazily. She smirked as she fired off a Killing Cruse that missed Ginny by a mere centimeter.

_Ginny—no—my baby, my only daughter—_

The Hall seemed to fall silent around Molly, or else she went temporarily deaf. She saw the lethal jet of green light streaking toward her beloved daughter in exaggerated slow motion and was instantly transported to a bedroom, long ago, where she lay in bed, propped up on the pillows, and held her long-awaited newborn daughter in her arms. She recalled the honeysuckle smell of Ginny's long red hair, the way her cheeks would glow pink whenever her big brothers would tease her about Harry Potter. She remembered seeing her, looking small and lost as the Hogwarts Express pulled away from the platform, the only child to be left behind while her big brothers headed off for a year of adventure at school. She was _never_ one to be left behind, and despite Molly's vehement refusal to let her fight tonight, here she was. Her Ginny. Her headstrong, fiery daughter. As the Killing Curse just barely singed Ginny's sleeve, Molly saw Fred's face, pale and lifeless; she heard Ginny's anguished cry echoing in her ears:

"I'm in Dumbledore's Army—I can't go home! My whole family's here, I can't stand waiting there alone and not knowing and—"

She hadn't even said a proper good-bye. This _couldn't_ be the way it ended.

White-hot rage coursed through Molly's veins as she realized how close she'd been to losing another of her children tonight, her only daughter. She charged at Bellatrix with the force and ferocity of a tigress.

"NOT MY DAUGHTER, YOU BITCH!"

She didn't recall throwing off her cloak, but she must have done, as her arms were free when she stepped forward to challenge her daughter's would-be murderess, the rage born of a thousand nights' fear building up to a boiling point inside her.

"OUT OF MY WAY!" Molly screeched, waving the three girls out of her way, so as to protect them from the force of her wrath.

She aimed curse after curse at Bellatrix, rage moving her forward blindly and increasing with her opponent's every mad grin. This was the woman who'd tortured the Longbottoms into insanity, who'd killed her own cousin Sirius Black and her niece Dora Lupin and countless others. Molly didn't just want to stop Bellatrix from killing again. She wanted to _destroy_ her.

"Get back!" she hissed as several students rushed to her aid. There was no need to permit other mothers to share in her grief. "Get back! She is mine!"

"What will happen to your children once I"ve killed you?" taunted Bellatrix, overwhelming Molly with pure hatred for this repulsive woman, sickly obsessed with Voldemort and callously indifferent to human life.

"You-will-never-touch-our-children-again!" Molly screamed in reply. Bellatrix laughed, the same deranged laugh she'd let out as she'd nearly killed Ginny. The laugh of a woman who hunted people for sport, who discounted all lives, even her own, as utterly worthless except as sacrifices for her sick master. A final wave of pure wrath possessed Molly as she cast one final curse.

And then…the end. Blackness.

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><p><em>I hope you enjoyed my take on Molly's thoughts as she showed just how badass moms can be when you go after their babies. Please let me know what you think in your review-sending a new fic out there into the world is a bit like sending your child off to school for the first time, and it always leaves me wondering.<em>

_The next installment of "Wrath" is titled 'Denied' and explores a rage born of painful rejection and disappointment. Any guesses as to who it could be?_

_Until next time, then!_

_Delilah_


	2. Denied

_I'm back, Readers! Well, Molly Weasley struck me as the perfect embodiment of the maternal instinct kicked into overdrive-wrath in defense of one's children. In this chapter, we move onto an indignant form of wrath. Oftentimes, anger can mask disappointment or pain...as Petunia Dursley knows well enough._

_As usual, I own nothing. Almost literally._

_Enjoy!_

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><p><span>Denied<span>

Petunia Evans opened the envelope with trembling fingers. Here it was, at last-the response she'd been waiting for. Half of her didn't really expect the headmaster to reply; the other half was breathlessly hoping for good news.

If the reply was in the affirmative, then everything would go back to the way it was (_the way it's _supposed_ to be_, thought Petunia ). _Lily and I will be together again. I'll look after her and she'll look up to me. We'll have adventures and secrets that no one else knows about._

The envelope was made of the same thick, yellowish parchment that Lily's letter had been when that black-haired woman had delivered it to Mum and Dad. Petunia ran her fingers over its smooth surface and breathed in the crisp smell of the glossy ink sprawled across the envelope in an elegant calligraphy. It was just as that awful boy had said it would be. It had to be the answer Petunia was waiting for; it just _had_ to. An apology for the oversight, followed by an earnest request for Petunia to take up her rightful place at…what's it called, again? Hogwash? Unable to contain herself much longer, Petunia opened the envelope.

_Dear Miss Evans,_

_Thank you for your kind letter. It is refreshing to see a young lady so attached to her younger sister that she hopes to accompany her to Hogwarts at the start of term. The love, guidance and protection of an older sibling such as yourself is a rare treasure indeed. Lily should consider herself very fortunate._

_Unfortunately, l regret to inform you that l am unable to offer you acceptance into Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry at the present time. Although I am sure you are very bright and hardworking, the coursework at Hogwarts would prove impossible for a student who has not demonstrated any evidence of magical powers. I am sure you'll understand and forgive my inaction in this matter, and l wish you the very best in your studies and in all you do._

_I am, most sincerely yours,_

_Albus Dumbledore_

_Headmaster_

Petunia read it once, then immediately read it again to be sure she wasn't mistaken. No, it was true, the horrible words really were there, scratched onto the weird yellow paper in some sort of green ink. Hadn't these freaks ever heard of a typewriter? Honestly, it looked as if the old madman had used a fountain pen or something! Petunia laughed derisively under her breath, scorning everything to do with the place the unwelcome letter had come from and feeling the heady sensation of power and superiority course through her with every jibe she thought up. The accompanying hollow feeling had yet to make its customary appearance. What did she want with a school of witchcraft, anyway? What was it to Petunia if Lily and that scruffy Snape boy went off to learn mad tricks and spells and other such rubbish, while Petunia was left behind to study maths and geography with all her normal, magic-free friends?

And then, completely unbidden, Petunia felt a reckless rage wash over her like a wave of boiling water. The letter slipped from between her fingers as Petunia threw herself onto her bed, kicking and flailing and muffling her screams and howls in her pillow as she gave in to a vicious but nearly-silent tantrum.

"lt's not fair!" she screeched as she swept papers off the desktop and onto the floor, "it's-not-FAIR!" Spinning around like a top, Petunia seized each of the dolls and stuffed animals from a nearby shelf and hurled them violently at the wall. One, a china doll Petunia had received for Christmas several years ago, shattered with a crash, raining bits of porcelain down on the carpet. A single doll-sized eyeball rolled out from under the bed—green, like Lily's eyes. Stupid Lily! Petunia scowled bitterly into the hollowed-out shell that had once been the doll's exquisite china head. The dark emptiness inside was mildly frightening, a vast blackness that a child was never meant to see, an unknown behind the creamy façade where powerfully negative emotions had plenty of space to hide and dwell and grow in intensity.

"Petunia? What's going on up there, dear?"

Raising her head at the sound of her mother's mild, inquisitive voice, Petunia clenched her hands together to keep from trembling in barely-controlled rage and willed her voice to sound normal. "Nothing, Mummy," she replied. Surely her mother had heard the crashes. It had been stupid, really, to cause such a mess…but had it ever felt satisfying.

"Sweetheart, are you all right up there? Is Lily up there with you?"

_Lily_. All they cared about was Lily! For God's sake, couldn't they get their minds of their precious Lily for five minutes?

"I've no idea where she is," snapped Petunia, as the sound of her mother's footsteps in the hallway got closer. Then, her anger metamorphosizing almost instantaneously into spite, she looked around the ransacked room and added maliciously, "But she left an awful mess!"

Smiling vindictively, Petunia pictured the look on Lily's face when their mother got a hold of her and the remaining rage inside died down to a contented simmer. She looked down at the crumpled parchment in her hand and buried it deep inside her top desk drawer, knowing no one would _ever_ see it if she had anything to say about it, as the doorknob turned…

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><p><em>Ooh, nasty little girl! I hope you enjoyed this installment (yes, I know it's a short one, but emotions this powerful tend to climax fast, then decline in intensity just as fast) and are looking forward to the final chapter. At the end of the next chapter, I'll offer a preview of the next Deadly Sin to take the stage.<em>

_All the best,_

_Delilah_


	3. Betrayal

_Glad to be back with our last installment of 'Wrath'. Molly showed us righteous wrath, in her quest to save her children. Petunia's wrath, so closely related to jealousy, stemmed from her hurt at being left out and rejected. Emotions feed into one another and are very, very closely related, so Petuia's reaction could have just as easily fit into a chapter of 'Envy'. _

_Today, we see Professor McGonagall completely lose her composure as she faces one whom she believes to be a traitor of the basest sort. Never poke a sleeping lion._

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><p><span>Betrayal<span>

"Have you seen Harry Potter, Minerva? Because if you have, I must insist—"

Minerva McGonagall whipped her wand out of nowhere, before she'd even had a moment to plan her next course of action. A reckless rage had taken over her senses and sprung to the defense of Harry Potter—potential savior of the Wizarding world, perhaps, but still just a boy, and a boy under her protection at that.

Severus Snape countered with a Shield Charm and all Minerva could think of doing as she struggled to regain her footing was to curse the young upstart into oblivion for all the evil he'd done. He'd been a child, too, once, and Minerva had looked out for him, or at least she'd thought she had, but all this was lost in the magnitude of her wrath. He'd turned his back on those days long ago, it seemed, and it was now down to Minerva to purge the school of her ex-pupil's bloodlust. _All children grow up some time, and when they do, they need to take responsibility for their actions._

It didn't matter that Potter was lurking, invisible, perhaps mere feet away from this fracas with the Lovegood girl, also in potential danger. It didn't matter that Hogwarts was now a Death Eater stronghold, nor that Dumbledore, its great perennial defender, was long dead and now lay in peaceful repose in the white tomb across the dark grounds. It didn't matter that Minerva was getting on in years, nor that she was locked in ferocious combat with a known murderer young enough to be her own child. The one thing that mattered now was that she, Minerva McGonagall, had once trusted him—they _all_ had—and she was finally in the position to pay him back for abusing that trust. Dumbledore had been like a father (_okay, maybe more like a grandfather; Albus was over a hundred_, she amended herself) to this man, and he had rewarded Dumbledore's faith and trust and second chances with what? With cold-blooded murder atop the castle's topmost tower. He'd stared down the one man who trusted him implicitly and shattered him like a china doll. It was a betrayal of the basest sort. He didn't just need to die, in order to protect Potter. He deserved to _suffer._ If Dumbledore couldn't do it, then _she_ would.

Minerva dodged another spell as she hurriedly planned her strategy. But no, that wouldn't do, the bastard knew Legilimency. _Damn it_. Of course, the infinitely more satisfying option would be to beat him senseless with a blunt object, or perhaps to put her hands around his scrawny neck and _squeeze_ until he was still and quiet at last, but no—she'd have to settle for spellwork. She waved her wand at a blazing torch on the wall—perhaps fire could purge the headmaster of his sins? Its crackling burned like the anger Minerva felt, anger and betrayal and self-loathing for having been taken in for so long. Predictably, Snape transformed the fire into a thick black snake—_I should've seen that one coming_. Blasting it to mere wisps of smoke, as she wished she could do to its caster, Minerva McGonagall sent a cloud of razor-sharp daggers at her opponent, silently wishing that one would strike him directly in the heart (_if he has one, the villain!_) and end it all. She heard the crunch of metal on metal as he sheltered like a child behind a suit of armor. Coward.

"Minerva!"

The timely arrival of Filius Flitwick at the head of the other Heads of House distracted Minerva from the task at hand momentarily as he, too, joined in the duel. Two against one—perhaps now Minerva's taste for vengeance could be appeased, though sharing the job with another wouldn't quite satisfy her as much as her original plan of killing Severus Snape with her own two hands. Preferably as brutally as possible.

As Flitwick charmed the suit of armor that was serving as Snape's shield to attempt to strangle him, Minerva fought back a smile watching Dumbledore's killer struggle to free himself. It was exquisite payback for the months she'd watched him barricade himself in Dumbledore's office and allow the Carrows to run wild in her school—for it was _her_ school, long before he was even born. She couldn't permit him to ruin it the way he'd ruined everything else.

SMASH! The suit of armor sailed towards Minerva and the others; she barely had time to jump out of the way as it crashed into the stone wall behind them with an earsplitting racket. She looked up to see Snape running down the corridor in full retreat. Gathering up her long dressing gown like a schoolgirl, she sprinted down the corridor in hot pursuit, turning into a nearby classroom. She had him cornered. There was no escape now.

Severus Snape, too seemed to have reached this realization. His dark eyes swept the room as though he were looking, futilely, for a way out. Any way out. Minerva hoped with all her heart that at last, he felt the same sense of entrapment that Dumbledore had surely felt when Snape had cornered him atop the Astronomy Tower that fateful night. _How do you like it when it's you who's trapped? How does it feel to be at my mercy?_

Raising her wand to finish it, Minerva took a step forward, only to quickly raise her arms to protect her face from the torrent of glass that flew at her from the window that was shattered as Snape jumped. For a second, Minerva's breath caught in her chest. _Is he…?_ She fervently prayed that he'd been cut to ribbons by the shower of glass shards, or else that the fall had left him broken and finally beaten at the foot of the castle walls, like Dumbledore had been. She brushed the glass fragments from her dressing gown and stepped forth, hoping against hope that, faced with the enormity of his crimes and the impossibility of escaping with his miserable life intact, Snape had finally decided to end it all.

Her triumph was short-lived, replaced almost immediately with another wave of anger as he slipped through their fingers in escape yet again. "COWARD!" she screeched in sheer frustration, knowing instinctively that this was the one insult that would draw blood. It seems that even villains couldn't bear to face the truth.

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><p><em>Well, I hope you all enjoyed our first Deadly Sin: Wrath. Our next installment will explore Greed. Special appearances by two Hogwarts schoolboys with a powerful sense of entitlement and a madman with an obsession. Keep an eye out for updates!<em>

_Until then, I love your reviews!_

_Delilah_


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